


Stand By Me

by paulmcfartney



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: Beatles Slash, M/M, McLennon, but it's alright because he needs paul to hold him and -- god, cos john is angry and sad and also a little bit drunk, mclennon fluff, snuggles, teddy boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 08:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13337793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmcfartney/pseuds/paulmcfartney





	Stand By Me

It was well after three a.m. when John stumbled through the front entrance of Mendips, still slightly buzzed from a night out with his mates. He felt dazed and in an almost trance-like state as he felt his way around to the carpeted staircase. Even with his foggy mind, he mentally nagged himself that he must keep quiet, to make a solid effort in not waking the woman that would hopefully be fast asleep on the second floor. However, his efforts proved to go to waste when an unusually bright light flickered on behind him, temporarily blinding him and causing a persistent throb to break out in his temples. John's stomach dropped as he turned around to face the thin, aging woman that sat upright in her favorite embroidered chair. 'Fuck,' John repeated over and over again in his aching mind. He had to squint to be able to see the stern, upset lines drawn tightly over her face.

Mimi sat in silence for a moment, having a look at his obviously disheveled state. John was strangely sober now, feeling as if he hadn't been downing pint after pint just two hours earlier. His aunt's unrelenting glare never left his squinting features until she finally spoke. "Where've you been, John?" she questioned, stern and seemingly not in the mood to put up with some bullshit excuse he's conjured up and spewed out to her. Mimi could read him like a novel, and lying to her wasn't as easy as it seemed. "Out," he replied shortly, taking a turn to start up the stairs. John wasn't up for a row, and by the looks of it, a right decent one was brewing between the two.

"Where have you been?" she repeated, much more forceful this time around, her words seeming to drag the boy back down the few stairs that he'd managed to climb. John huffed and looked her in the eye. "Like I said, I've been out," he replied through almost gritted teeth. She raised an eyebrow, and John could nearly hear the heavy intake of breath that she inhaled. Mimi knew. "What did I tell you about drinking, John? Do you want to end up like your father?" she spat coldly. Her icy words took a stab to John's chest, which proceeded to tighten in anger.

"I'm not looking to have a row with you tonight, Mimi," John seethed, his anger beginning to get the best of him. His slightly buzzed state didn't seem to help his case either, because he rarely had control of his actions even when he'd only had a bit to drink. Mimi only rolled her eyes and stood up from her chair, crossing her arms over her nightgown. "It's three o'clock in the damn morning and you're just getting in? From being out drinking?" she dragged. Mimi's voice was beginning to shrill from the forcefulness that she put behind her words. "You're eighteen years old for God's sake! It's time to grow up, John!"

Her tone was making John fume in anger, and he could almost swear that he actually felt steam pressing out of his ears in a steady searing whistle. John's face grew hot as he clenched his jaw. "Just fuckin' let me do what I want! Then we won't have any problems!" John spat back, his exclamation full of venom and false hatred. For a moment, he actually thought that he'd worn her out, that he wouldn't have to hear another word of it for at least the rest of the night. But his theory proved to be wrong as her tone rose to a shout.

"As long as you live in my household under my roof, you will proceed to follow my rules, which I've tried oh so blatantly to make clear to you!" The sentence echoed through John's mind before he'd made up his mind. Without another word, he went the full way upstairs, despite Mimi's protests, and shoved a small wad of cash deep into his woolen coat that had been sitting on his dresser. John slung his guitar across his shoulder before bounding back down the stairs and shoving past Mimi. "Where do you think you're going?" she questioned in disbelief, following him out the front door and into the cool night, where he slid himself onto the seat of his bicycle and began to ride off own the street. "Out!"

At first, he couldn't see where he was going, and almost ran into a few cars parked off to the sides of the darkened streets. The tears clouding his vision along with his general blindness was a nearly deadly combination, and he had to stop to fish his smudged glasses from his pocket so that he could find his way through the streets. The water stung at his eyes, along with the now heavier breeze that floated around the thick lenses. John's lungs ached with exertion from the rapid movement of his legs. He didn't even realize where he'd been going until he pulled up around the back of the McCartney household.

Through the blur of his tears, he glanced at his watch and huffed. Three fourty-five a.m. Setting his bike down along a fence, he eyed the drainpipe that crept up the side of the building right next to Paul's window, which was incidentally open to reveal his bleach white curtains rolling along with the breeze. John began to painfully shimmy up the piping, and successfully slid himself into the window after setting his guitar down somewhere on the floor in front of him.

The pale moonlight drifted in through the open window along with the breeze, covering a sleeping Paul with a glowing sheen of light. John could feel a tug at his heart from the sight, but he still hadn't been able to shake the ever-persistent tears that continued to blotch his eyes and stain his cheeks. He sniffled quietly before slipping off his jacket and carelessly tossing it next to his discarded guitar, followed by his thin white t-shirt and beaten leather boots, leaving himself bare and chilled in the still of the night. John couldn't help but stand there in awe for a moment, wondering if waking Paul for something as stupid and childish as this was really worth it. Paul looked incredibly peaceful while he rested, his dark hair strewn out around his head and his rounded lips slightly parted as they pressed up to the pillow lazily.

But John was far too distraught to care at this point. He told himself that he'd make sure to be careful as he slid in behind the shirtless boy under the sheets, John facing his pale back as he slept. The silence overcame them once more, the occasional rustling from the sheets and Paul's quiet breathing being the only sound in the small room. At that very moment, he realized that this all was stupid, that he'd been a fool to think that coming here would solve all of his problems, and most importantly, for believing that Paul would really take him up in his arms and rock him back and forth to soothe him. Another fresh trail of tears inevitably began to slip down John's cheeks and onto the white pillowcase underneath his sniffling head. The small ounce of hope that Paul might actually care for him had finally slipped away as John's muted whimpers bounced the mattress in quick succession. He wiped away the tracks of the new tears that had just fallen and shut his eyes momentarily, wishing that all of this had never even happened.

The bed shifted, but not because of John. And when he opened his eyes in confusion, they were met with an equally drooping pair from the late hour. Paul said nothing to question him, taking the fresh tears that continued to fall down his angled cheeks as the only response he needed. A warm hand found John's trembling one and held it at their sides, stroking his thumb over the prominent knuckles that swelled out from John's slim fingers. Their eyes had been locked together for some time now, somehow silently discussing the situation at hand.

John could feel his heartbeat pick up at the sight of Paul awake and fully aware of him, and at the feeling of their fingers intertwined together on his hip. His eyes went wide while Paul's were half-lidded with drowsiness that tried to lull him back to sleep. Paul, however, momentarily ignored his body's requests and only shifted himself closer to the sniffling boy across from him, their noses only one small bump away from brushing past one another.

When Paul pressed his forehead against John's, John felt a few more tears begin to fall from his now fluttering eyes, despite the quivering smile that had spread across his face. A weight had been lifted from John's chest, one that he hadn't even realized was there until he'd felt the tip of Paul's nose brush against his and his cool breath fall over his chin. Their legs messily tangled together, one of John's moving between his friend's and locking around his calf.

Paul's warm palm released the boy's fingers, drifting up to his dampened cheek and cupping his jaw with an acute gentleness that John couldn't even begin to describe. Tears continued to fall down onto the pillow, but Paul wasn't having any of it. He pressed sweet kisses to the wet beads that had traveled down the boy's cheeks, and he could feel John shiver under him and place a trembling hand to his exposed waist to hold him there. Paul didn't stop even when he was sure that John was no longer crying, but he continued placing light kisses on the angles of the older boy's jaw, on the tip of his nose, and atop his fluttering eyelids.

Paul pulled him close in a sweet embrace, the older's nose poking gently into the side of his neck and collar and his hair rustling against his curved jaw. A hand tangled into John's curled, auburn locks and his fingers kneaded into his scalp as the other man draped an arm over Paul's back. Paul pulled the quilt up and over the flushed tangle of their legs and laid the soft hem halfway up their torsos, their arms still exposed to the breeze that floated through the opened window opposite the bed. John shivered against the younger boy, who in response, only held him closer to his naked chest, lulling them both off to sleep in the comfortable silence of the small, darkened room.

The warmth that radiated between the two lovestruck boys was enough to keep them cozy for the remainder of the short night until the persistent dawn came gleaming through the curtains. Neither of them moved, not wanting to accept that the other had already woken up and needing to stay wrapped in the expanse of the other's body until time came to a halt.


End file.
